


Truth or Dare

by edenforest



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Truth Serum, did you think there wouldn't be sharing a bed??, have a I never wrote anything but?, i don't think so, of course there is sharing a bed, silly you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:40:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenforest/pseuds/edenforest
Summary: The couch felt oddly soft. Like it was going to swallow her. Her hand slipped over his shoulder and then up so suddenly it was on his cheek before Gaby knew how it happened. Possibly she herself had moved it, but it seemed unlikely. Illya’s hand took a hold on Gaby’s shoulders and guided her gently but firmly further. He looked worried and maybe even a little flushed. “Are you okay?”





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diadema](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadema/gifts).



> The prompt I chose was: “Dear Author, A prompt for your consideration…"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies" When a mission goes awry, Gaby gets drugged with truth serum and reveals more than either of her partners bargain for. A little bit of bitter (her life in East Berlin perhaps), a little bit of sweet (her feelings for a certain Russian), but above all, please give me a happy ending! Points for Gaby being innocently affectionate -- playing with Illya’s hands, wanting him to twirl her, etc -- and Illya being bewildered, but protective of her and trying to stop her from saying anything she wouldn’t want him to know otherwise. Extra Points for the aftermath! What does Gaby remember? What changes between her and Illya now that her secret is out? <3 No dubcon or smut here please, though I wouldn’t object to Gaby and Illya sharing a bed. :) Thanks a million! <3” 
> 
> I hope you like it. It's not overly angsty or overly fluffy (tho that might be just my personal opinion), but maybe something between.

Solo asked was she fine for the fourth time. Gaby was starting to get annoyed. She was fine, nothing was wrong with her, nothing but Solo asking if she was fine. She would scream if he’d ask for a fifth time. Illya hadn’t asked once but glanced at her every time Solo did.

“I will scream if you ask me one more time,” Gaby hissed out, teeth pressed together for the last syllables. “I’ll tell if that changes.”

Napoleon nodded, but didn't look any more convinced than before. Illya turned to lock the door.

“We should be fine here until tomorrow,” Illya said, still fiddling with the locks so he didn’t have to turn to look at Gaby. He felt guilty for leaving her behind even when she had ordered him to do so. But she was fine. At least she was claiming to be. And she was here. Some rope burns on her wrists, and grumpy after the sedative someone had injected in her was wearing off, but here.

Gaby left her teammates by the door. They could murmur to each other if they pleased, as long as they didn’t bother her. She closed her eyes in the dark living room and took a deep breath of dusty air. She stretched her neck from side to side, felt a satisfying crack from both sides. She wanted a bath. And a drink. Someone turned the light on and she opened her eyes. The light hurt, made her blink before she had to half close her eyelids again. Her head was starting to ache.

She glanced over her shoulder to Illya, standing in the doorway, hovering there like he didn’t know what to do or say.

“Go get me painkillers if you need something to do”, she said. “My head hurts.” She closed her eyes as soon as Illya left, tried to cover herself from the harsh light. Suddenly she felt tired. Like the long mission and even longer day had sucked all her strength, leaving her limp and useless. Even keeping her head up took effort. Gaby cracked her eyes slightly open, walked to the table, and grabbed Solo’s expensive whisky bottle. It wasn’t probably the best idea, she hadn't eaten since morning. Adrenaline had kept the hunger away, but now she felt slightly nauseous for not eating all day. She was only reaching a glass for herself when she heard the owner of the bottle clearing his throat.

“Maybe better not to mix alcohol with whatever they gave you,” Solo suggested, gently, but firmly. “Until we can determine-”

“Fine,” Gaby interrupted and let go of the bottle. She had no strength for a fight, she even needed to take balance from the table. A dull pain twisted her head and she flinched, not managing to hide it from Solo.

“Are you -”

“I’ll scream,” she muttered and pushed herself to movement, straightened her back, and lifted her chin. “I swear I will do.” She marched past him, almost bumping against Illya at the door. She took the pill bottle from him, passing him too, yanking the bathroom door open and slamming it shut behind her. The slam echoed in her head. She pressed her eyes firmly shut and gritted her teeth while the pain calmed down.

Three deep breaths. Four. Five. She was fine, she reminded herself. Just a headache. She would take the pills, have a hot bath, and things would be better.

Slowly Gaby parted her eyes enough to see, popped the pill bottle open with her hand that felt heavy as lead, with fingers that she couldn't feel at all anymore. She dropped the bottle and the brown glass shattered on the tile floor.

“I’m fine,” she announced while squatting down and picking a pill from the floor. “No need to come in.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” Solo’s voice echoed behind the door. Close enough to tell he, or more likely both of them, were listening to what she was doing.

Gaby’s numb fingers captured a few more pills. Two was enough but right now the third seemed necessary. She grabbed the sink to pull herself back up, twisting the faucet on. She flushed the pills down with tepid water.

Everything took an effort; closing the tap, opening the other one attached to the tub, grabbing a towel and lowering down to the floor to push the brown shards of glass further from the tub so she wouldn’t hurt herself. The whole time her temples were twisting with pain, encouraging her nausea. When the floor was clear enough she switched the light off. The little dirty window would have to do, the bulb hanging from the ceiling was too bright to bear right now. She shed her clothes on the floor before the tub was filled, kicked her shoes off. One hit the door.

“I’m fine,” she said. It felt stupid, but it was better than to have somebody knock on the door and ask was she fine. She climbed into the tub, her heel slipped against the bottom of it, and she collapsed under the water, hitting the back of her head. It felt like her head would explode. Her heavy hands tried to grab the enamel edges. She got water in her nose and coughed it forcefully up when she finally settled to sit on the bottom of the still half empty tub. She coughed and cursed. If somebody asked something she didn’t hear it from the noises. Panting she slumped to rest against the tub when she could finally breathe properly, swallowing her nausea away. She moved to close the faucet.

When she stayed absolutely still it felt better. She concentrated on her breathing; in and out, and so on. The nausea started to fade, eventually the dull ache disappeared from her head when the drugs kicked in. She didn’t open her eyes for the light tap from the door. She had been quiet, most likely it was to check was she still alive.

“I’m fine,” she breathed out, surprised it even carried through the door. But she could hear footsteps so it must have.

And truly she was feeling better, it was not only something she said to get Solo and Illya off her back. She started to feel physically better, and also calmer. Still tired, exhausted really, but her heartbeat had settled and breathing was easier. Moving was still hard, her limbs were heavy when she pulled herself from the tub, moved the towel on her skin and pulled her dressing gown on. She got stuck for a while when her arm didn't go through the sleeve, making her grunt, frustrated, and trying to force her arm in the slightly twisted sleeve.

Gaby shambled across the living room, collapsed on the couch. She had probably taken one too many drinks. Her face crimped when she remembered she hadn’t have any.

“Your foot is bleeding,” Solo said and pointed to her foot hovering above the floor, drops of blood dripping between her toes. “Did you step on the shards?”

Gaby tried to crane her head but it was too heavy to move so she left it. Her foot wasn’t hurting so it couldn't be that serious. She jerked when Illya suddenly sat next to her, it was like he appeared out of thin air. He reached to touch her ankle and asked something. Gaby’s gaze shifted from him absentmindedly. Eyes half closed she scanned the room. It was hard to focus on things or sounds or anything. There was a ringing in her ears. Or maybe there was a cricket in the room.

“Is it hurting?” Illya asked again, quickly glancing at Solo who observed Gaby, looking worried. Slowly Gaby’s gaze found him. He set a plaster on the bottom of her foot and set it back to hang over the couch.

“What?” Gaby asked nonplussed.

“Your foot,” Illya said. “You stepped on the glass you broke. Is it hurting?”

Gaby frowned and slowly settled to sit up, staring at Illya. “Why would my foot be hurting?”

Illya and Solo exchanged glances before Illya cleared his throat. “You stepped on some glass.”

Gaby hummed. She didn’t remember anything like that. Illya was most like wrong. She was going to say it but his turtleneck looked soft so instead she reached her hand to touch it. Her hand slipped over his shoulder and then up so suddenly it was on his cheek before Gaby knew how it happened. Possibly she herself had moved it, but it seemed unlikely. Her thumb brushed over Illya’s bottom lip, her eyes snapped up and focused on his eyes. Blue like the sky. And hair like rye during harvest, moving in the wind like waving sea. A good face. She leaned closer to inhale. “You smell nice.”

Napoleon chuckled quietly while Illya’s hand took a hold on Gaby’s shoulders and guided her gently but firmly further. He looked worried and maybe even a little flushed. “Are you okay?” he asked and risked her screaming because of it.

Gaby tilted her head. “Hungry,” she sighed and twitched her leg like she was going to move but stayed down. “And my legs are too heavy to move,” she huffed.

“Why don’t I make you a sandwich,” Napoleon suggested and got up. He gestured for Illya to follow him. “Safe to say it wasn’t only a sedative they gave her,” he muttered outside of the room.

Illya hummed displeased. “Maybe they were going to interrogate her.”

Napoleon agreed and nodded. “Let's keep an eye on her. I think she is fine if she stays conscious and at least coherent.”

Illya observed Gaby through the crack in the door. She sat on the couch, looking at her finger she was rubbing against the thick upholstery. Slightly frowning. “I wonder how effective the drug they gave her was.”

“What do you mean?” Solo asked.

“Mostly they only cause paranoia and anxiety, increase the heart rate and make people uncomfortable more than truthful,” Illya pointed out. “She seems calm.”

Napoleon hummed and looked at Gaby too. “Maybe we should test it.”

Illya opened the door and stepped in the doorway. “Would you like tea with your sandwich?”

Gaby’s head turned like it wasn’t quite attached to her. “This couch feels weird.”

“I see,” Illya muttered. “Tea?” he repeated and carried on like Gaby was acting perfectly normal.

“Yes, please,” she sighed.

“You want sugar with that?” Illya asked.

“Yes,” Gaby said.

“When we got lost in Madrid you said it was because Cowboy gave you wrong directions,” Illya continued. “Did he?”

“It was my fault,” Gaby said after thinking about it, her shoulders twitched when she tried to shrug. “But he was being very annoying.”

Solo closed the door. “I knew it,” he said and narrowed his eyes to Illya. “And you believed her.”

“I said I was not going to get involved,” Illya reminded firmly.

Solo snorted and started to move towards the kitchen. “Well at least it tells that whatever they gave her was effective. I doubt she would ever admit that it was her fault without some chemical help. Maybe we should use this rare occasion to our advantage and ask her about other things,” Napoleon suggested.

Illya shifted his weight from one leg to another, shook his head slightly. “No. She is drugged.”

Solo nodded, stared to make her sandwich, hint of grin on his lips. “So you don’t want to know about what she really thinks about you?”

Illya looked displeased, shook his head again, like the idea was stupid. “I know what she thinks about.”

“Sure,” Napoleon nodded. “I’m sure she, like all of us, always tells the truth.”

Illya’s lips pressed into a tight line. He scowled at Cowboy. “Don’t you dare.”

 

***

 

There was a mean looking cricket that was glaring at her across the room, and the couch felt oddly soft. Like it was going to swallow her. Gaby shifted awkwardly on it until the couch under her felt more secure. She noticed she had a plaster on her foot, and stared at it annoyed when she didn't know why it was there. Suddenly there was a plate with a sandwich on her lap. It seemed odd, but it was exactly what she had been craving so she picked it up and took a bite. The cricket climbed on the armrest and shrieked at her in Spanish. Gaby swatted it away with her hand. “Go away.”

“Who are you talking to?” Illya asked.

“To the cricket,” Gaby said. “I don’t even understand Spanish.”

Napoleon nodded slowly. It seemed easier not to ask more. Either Gaby was hallucinating the thing or there really was a Spanish cricket in the room and it felt better to assume it was all in her head. “Is the sandwich fine?”

“Little dry,” Gaby said.

Illya hummed. He crossed his arms and leaned on the couch, aimed a smug expression towards Cowboy. “Do ask more if you want.”

It wasn’t the worst thing Gaby had said about his food so Napoleon let it slide. He was more interested about other things. “What about Waverly? he asked. “What do you think of him.”

Gaby had to swallow before she could speak. “He’s fine. Sort of know-it-all,” she estimated and shrugged. “Thinks he is funnier than he is.”

“Really?” Solo asked amused.

“You all think you are,” Gaby pointed out.

Solo and Illya exchanged glances before Solo continued, not so cheerfully anymore, “What does he say about us?”

“He thinks you are average spies at best,” Gaby said. “He is amazed you have ever survived this long.”

“What?” Illya insisted, eyes squinting.

“What do you mean average at best?” Solo huffed.

Gaby licked crumbs from the corner of her mouth. “He thinks you have only survived this long because you are too lucky or too stubborn to do anything else.”

Napoleon gazed at Illya. “You would be the too stubborn,” he claimed and turned his eyes back to Gaby who picked a slice of tomato from her food and dropped it on the plate, looking like she was insulted there even was a tomato slice in her food. “Is he planning to get rid of us?”

“No,” Gaby muttered. “I guess you are useful enough.”

“High praises,” Napoleon sighed.

“Stop asking,” Illya ordered. “She will say soon something you really don’t want to hear.”

“More like _you_ don’t want to hear,” Napoleon noted. “What else is he been saying about me?”

“You are not that important,” Gaby snorted. “He talks more about his tea than you.” She turned to look at her sandwich and missed his frown.

“Are you done?” Illya breathed out, shaking his head at the American.

Napoleon’s eyes narrowed and he turned back to Gaby. “What do you think of Peril?”

Illya’s back straightened when he pulled himself sit on the edge of the couch. “Don’t,” he said and Gaby turned to look at him, seemingly like she only now noticed he was there.

“We were just having some fun,” Napoleon claimed.

“It is not fun for me,” Illya snapped at him. “And she is drugged.” He felt uneasy with the situation. He didn’t want to know what Gaby really thought of him. And he desperately did. But the voice of reason was saying it would be better not to know. “We should all go to bed. Finish your sandwich.”

“I don’t want to,” Gaby said and handed the plate towards Illya. The cricket was sitting on the bread and jabbering in quick Spanish, and it had really made her lose her appetite. She let the plate go before Illya had a hold of it, but he managed to grab it before it too was in pieces. She tried to get up but ended up just sighing. “I don’t think my legs are attached to my body anymore.”

Illya reached his hand to her but when Gaby only looked at it he bent down to grab her hand himself, pulling Gaby up and scooping her in his arms. Her legs dangled like they really weren’t attached to her.

“Could you carry me all time so I don’t have to walk myself?” Gaby asked, eyelids slumping. She set her head to rest on his shoulder when it became too heavy for her neck to keep up. He smelled nice.

“Sure he would,” Napoleon promised on Illya’s behalf.

Illya didn’t bother to answer him. He carried Gaby to her small bedroom, helped her into bed. It wasn’t the first time, and he suspected not the last one either.

Gaby found it difficult to keep her eyes open, especially when she was comfortably horizontal. She was sensing Illya pulling away and suddenly she didn’t want to be alone. She was always alone, people always left her. They died or walked away and she was always left alone. Now she grabbed Illya’s arm. “Don’t go,” she pleaded, before her eyes slumped slowly close again. It was harder and harder to get them open anymore.

Illya glimpsed at the open door. He didn’t need Cowboy coming smirking at him. But Gaby was holding his arm and he didn’t have the heart to yank it free. Instead he set his knee on the bed, then hip and settled next to Gaby on his side. He would stay until she would fall asleep. “Are you feeling better?” he asked quietly.

Gaby hummed slightly. “Worried.”

“Of what? Illya asked.

“That you will always care more of Russia than me,” she muttered.

Illya swallowed slowly. This was exactly the reason he didn’t want to ask anything at her. In case she would say something too big to even start to unravel. Or something Illya didn’t know how to answer. This was both.

“Don’t tell anything else,” Illya asked. It wasn’t fair, not when she couldn't decide what she wanted really to share. The light was switched off from the hallway, and Illya relaxed.

“I like telling you things,” Gaby whispered. Her eyelids slumped and breathing slowed down.

It was nice to know Gaby liked to share things with him. He knew that if he wanted to ask anything this was his last change. Gaby curled closer, her forehead leaning on his shoulder, hair tickling Illya’s chin. “Do you think about me often?” Illya whispered before he was sure it was a wise thing to ask. It wasn’t, he realized right after asking.

Gaby didn’t say anything. He had lost his opportunity. Illya knew it was best like that. He shouldn't be asking now, not even if it was the only time Gaby would be telling the truth. He tilted his head down, breathed in her scent, brushing the rope burn on her wrist, resting between them.

“All the time,” Gaby muttered so quietly that Illya hardly understood her.

It wasn’t a lot, it’s not like she told what she thought of him, only that she did. All the time. Her hand was still holding his arm so Illya stayed. Now he had something he needed to think and decide. Maybe when he had an answer for Gaby, she would tell him about the things she thought of him.


End file.
